


If It's Not Okay, It's Not The End

by SandyQuinn



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, confusingly similar supposed ocs, long suffering stanley, my way or the highway stanford, no animals were harmed, past allusions to stanford's and bill's friendship, soos is sweet as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8237932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandyQuinn/pseuds/SandyQuinn
Summary: Three years after the Weirdmageddon, and everything is finally All Right. That is, until Stanford walks into the Shack one day and discovers that Bill is back and suffering from acne.





	

For several decades Stanford had seen life as a sort of a wheel turning itself around and around – bringing in good times and bad, misfortunes and luck in turns, balancing each good period with a bad one. It wasn’t scientific, although he couldn’t help but make a note of each time he felt the tide turning – but it had always been comforting, especially during the darker times, to know that it couldn’t last forever.

However, it also meant that every time things were going well for him, Stanford started to develop a little expectant tic in his right eye.

Life had been good for three years running now. There had been moments – a particularly fiery argument with Stanley regarding banshees; bad dreams; three months during which Stanford had tried to run for president – that had been rocky, but overall, his new, brightly light path had seemed never-ending.

That is, until he and his brother returned from Mabel’s and Dipper’s birthday party, and walked into the Mystery Shack on a crisp late summer day.

“I’m just saying,” Stanley was just saying, as they stepped indoors, the door creaking in a carefully manufactured way as a part of the new charm Soos was trying out, “I’ve got business sense. You’ve got – you know, you can do the gadgets. You ever been on TV?”

“Ley, thanks to your business sense, we’re banned from South-America,” Stanford said. “I don’t even know how it’s possible, but apparently a whole continent can just ban you. Just outright turns us back on every port and station. I’d be in awe if it wasn’t so frustrating.”

“Banned is just a fancy word for saying ‘try harder’,” his brother scoffed.

“No,” Stanford said. “It really isn’t. Hello Soos!”

Soos, who’d just hurried into the shop, stopped short, panting a little, adjusting his tie. “Welcome to the Mystery Shack, _mortals_!”

“Mortals?” Stanford asked.

“Soos, it’s just us,” Stanley said, lifting his hands placatingly.

Soos cast him a pleading look. “Mr. Pines, let me just –“ 

“Oh, all right,” Stanley waved his hand graciously. “Get on with it, then.”

“Watch your, you know, step,” Soos continued earnestly. “For not everything is what it seems. Some things are, like the mandatory fire exits. But not others! Some of you might not survive the experience! Ooo!” He paused to read his hand. “Tip your cashier!”

“Wendy ad-lib that last bit?” Stanley asked.

“Wendy’s back in college,” Soos said, nodding to the counter. “Actually, Gil’s been helping me come up with this stuff. I hired him last month. Say hi to Mr. Pines and Mr. Pines, Gil!”

Stanford turned around, just in time for the new cashier to put down the newspaper they were perusing, and caught the first glimpse that set his mind howling. The next part seemed to go in strange slow-motion as white noise gushed into his ears and he could swear that his noise was bleeding.

_It_ was wearing a bright yellow t-shirt with some kind of nonsensical face scribbled onto it, and an eyepatch with an eye printed on it – as if to offset the brightness of the shirt, its skin was dark brown, and its teeth were bright bright as it grinned, and pointed at its remaining eye.

“Wink!” said Gil, and blinked.

Somewhere between the reality and metaphorical, Stanford heard the heavy wooden creak as the wheel lurched sharply onward.

*

“Oh, think you’re being so clever, don’t you,” Stanford muttered under his breath, hauling his trunk out of the car. “Think you’re being so _inconspicuous_ , coming into my world, my home, you little –“

“Feels good to be back,” Stanley remarked, pulling out some bags. “Serene, y’know what I’m saying?”

“Uhhuh,” Stanford grunted, unlocking the secret compartment in his trunk and starting to haul out dusty old scrolls. “Everything is great, Stanley.”

“Yep,” Stanley said with satisfaction. “Better than great. The Shack’s running smoothly too, I gotta hand it to Soos. Whaddya wanna do next?”

“I have to –“ Stanford faltered. _Think up a lie to keep him safe_. He couldn’t. “I have to go collect some fairy barf.”

“Neat,” Stanley said. “I’m getting a beer. A cold, frosty one.”

“And blood. A lot of blood.” Stanford stared grimly into the middle distance. “I knew this day would come eventually, Stanley. Thank you, Stanley,” he added as Stanley passed him his gun, thoughtfully.

“Sure did, buddy. I bought the six-pack yesterday.” Stanley paused, and then continued, clearing his throat. “Y’know, maybe this year we could –“  

“I’ll be outside in the woods if you need me,” Stanford interrupted. He paused and then clipped a massive knife onto his belt.

“I’ll be on the porch.” Stanley clasped Stanford’s shoulder briefly, a man accustomed to a brother wielding dangerous weapons. “Try not to get arrested, will’ya?”

*

_Of course_ Stanford had always known somewhere in the back of his head that Bill would be back eventually. He knew he’d only glimpsed a mere fraction of Bill’s powers, and for the past three years (Three years! He should’ve guessed from the number alone!) he’d been mentally preparing himself. He’d waited for particularly vivid nightmares, looked for a golden gleam in a stranger’s eyes, even kept an eye on Stanley, just in case. Stanley had found the attention mildly disturbing but mostly flattering.

He really hadn’t expect Bill to manifest himself in a teenage tourist trap cashier, which, while another way for Bill to keep him on his toes, also meant that Stanford needed to be _sure_ that it was him. His first hunch had been powerful, but mostly based on appearances. Months at sea had taught him that an eyepatch really wasn’t a justifiable reason to point a gun at someone.

“Huh,” Gil said, turning the fridge magnet around. “Funny, don’t see a price tag on this one.”

“Does that mean it’s free, then?” a middle-aged man asked, contorting his face in what he obviously hoped was a sly expression. Gil laughed. The man chortled.

Gil kept on laughing, his eyes wide open and never blinking, until the customer started to look a little uncomfortable.

“Good one,” Gil said finally, with a manic grin. “I’ve never heard _that_ one before! Seriously! First time!”

“Oh, thank y-“

“That’ll be four dollars.”

The man paid and took off quick, casting wary glances over his shoulder.

“Difficult customers, huh?” Stanford remarked casually, as he strolled over to the counter. His pocket was absolutely drenched in blood, and it was hard to feign nonchalance. Out of Gil’s sight, he dipped his finger in and drew a sigil on to the side of the counter.

“Boy, tell me about it!” Gil said. He was a thin young man, maybe sixteen, with a body that seemed to be just a continuous smooth line with a head at the top, slumping onto his chair like a rag doll. “I’m really starved for entertainment here. Yesterday I stole some squirrel’s stash of nuts just to feel something!”

“I suppose this existence is pretty dull,” Stanford said agreeably, staring hard into Gil’s face. “ _Weak_. Can’t even turn people into stone when they annoy you. That’s a relatable feeling to you, right?”  

Gil blinked, with his single eye, and stared at Stanford, baffled. “I wouldn’t turn them into stone.”

“Oh,” Stanford said, a little taken aback.

Gil grinned, sitting up. “ _First_ , I’d take their family, and I’d turn their family into _fire ants_ , and put the ants in their _pants_ , and cover the pants in _honey_.”

“Good grief,” Stanford said weakly.

“Customer service, am I right?” Gil said, and then leaned over the counter. “Yer pocket’s dripping on the floor, Mr. Pines.”

“That’s – “ _Quick! Lie to him!_ “That’s blood. I have blood in my pocket.” _Damn_.

“Oh,” Gil said. He paused for a moment, eyeing Stanford with his singular eye solemnly. “Cool.”

“I have to go now,” Stanford said, backing away hastily, blood splattering in a trail after him.

From the doorway, he could still witness Gil dipping his finger into a bloody spot on the counter and then taste it.

*

“So, Soos,” Stanford said. “We haven’t talked in a while.”

Soos scratched his forehead, putting the signs he was carrying down. “Uh – yeah, I guess not, Mr. P. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever -”

“Tell me more about yourself,” Stanford interrupted curtly. “Anything at all. Lay it on me. For example, oh, hm. Tell me… the _exact_ circumstances surrounding you hiring that young man you call Gil.”

“Oh, Gil’s great,” Soos said eagerly. “Did you know he can play _piano_?”

“Aside from that,” Stanford waved his hand, irritated.

“Well, to be honest – I was actually supposed to hire this other dude, but that guy never showed up. Probably because there were these weird lights above the woods –“

“ _What_?” Stanford demanded.

“So that dude probably went to some forest rave party or something,” Soos said. He looked dreamy. “Awesome forest rave party.”

“Soos –“

“Anyway, then Gil showed up and asked for work, and since he’d come all the way here, I figured, dude, unlike the first guy, this one _totally_ wants to work here, not to mention he knows my full name and my favourite snack- ”

Melody, Soos’ girlfriend, poked her head in. “Remember how he _didn’t_ know what his social security number is? Or his phone number?” She giggled. “Gil’s so good at handling money but so bad with numbers!”

“And he loves this place,” Soos said with satisfaction. “Especially the windows with all the shapes in them. He took like, _tons_ of pictures.”

“What’s his last name?” Stanford demanded. Soos frowned.

“You know… I don’t remember, dude. It was something funny, but –“

“Oh god,” Stanford said. He was furiously scribbling this all down.

“Did you know Gil can _tap dance_?” Melody asked.

“He even gave me a nickname,” Soos said proudly. Stanford waited, a hollow dread in the pit of his stomach.

“It’s ‘This Guy’,” Soos said. “Pretty neat, right?”

“This has been a bonding experience, Soos,” Stanford said gravely, "but I'm afraid I need to go and -" he paused, struggling before he gave it up for the truth. "Find a fully grown man's humerus somewhere." 

"Cool," Soos said. "Melody, can you check the box for bail-out cash?" 

"I was on it before he even mentioned body parts, sweetie."   

*

Stanford could not for the life of him recall why he’d ever needed this many pyramid-shaped crystals. He could only assume that his past self had gotten them for the sole purpose of getting in the damn way when he was trying to locate his old files about Bill.

That, or Bill had gotten them for him. That seemed like the more likely scenario. One time he’d come out of a possession only to find that Bill had ordered sixty-seven boxes of band-aids. They’d given him a rash when he’d tried to use them.

“Oh for crying out loud,” Stanford muttered, piling more and more crystals and dusty candles into the corner, which was starting to get difficult to look at due to all of the light it was reflecting.

He needed to come with a clear and concise plan to take care of the problem. Obviously Gil wasn’t what he seemed, but Stanford didn’t really have the time to try and trick Bill into revealing himself – the old demon was cleverer than that. Oh, Bill might have had the others fooled, but he was never going to pull one over Stanford again! No more rashes for him!

He had the notes laid out on the floor before him – idle observations about Bill and his habits, still oddly charming back then: and later, in a much harder and jagged handwriting, curt reports about his activities. Looking at them made Stanford recall more things that he cared for, but look he did. There was a coinciding line between a hunt and science, in which observation was the key. It didn’t really matter if it made him recall the first time he’d let Bill experience snow through his body, or that time Bill had possessed a mannequin and insisted Stanford throw him off the cliff. What he needed to do here was take the information and compare it to the present.

Try as he might, he could barely recognize the person he had been in those notes.

Dust settled into his grey hair gently, as he bent his head and immersed himself back into the world where Bill had been lurking behind every corner. He tried not to think how familiar it felt to be this alert, this tense.

Ten minutes later, he had to stop and put out the fire that the reflecting crystals and the sun had started on the curtains.

*

The next day, Stanford had decided to observe Gil and his behaviour to better ascertain that he was really who he seemed to be – and to jot down any moments during the day that Gil was alone. If he could figure out what Gil’s – or Bill’s – motivation to being here was, the easier he could find a way to get rid of him. Which was why he was waiting for the supposed teenager in the empty shop at the crack of dawn.

Stanford hadn’t really considered the fact that he was standing still in the darkness until the key rattled in the lock and the door flung open.

“Hiyagh!” Gil yelped, jumping back and clutching the doorframe for support, his eye very wide. “What – Mr. Pines!”

“Hello, _Gil_ ,” said Stanford who was damned if he was going to let go of the greeting he’d been mentally preparing for the past twenty minutes, just because Gil was panting like he was going to hyperventilate.

“I thought you were the _squirrel_ ,” Gil gasped for breath. “Oh _wow_. Well, I’m awake now!”

“Tell me, Gil,” Stanford said, observing as Gil stepped over the threshold. “Do you have dreams?”

“I think I’m having one right now,” Gil said weakly, edging past Stanford, staring at him. “Mr. Pines, are ya – “

“Where were you born?” Stanford demanded.

“Uh, a dog sneezed on some cauliflower and nine months later I just rolled out with a full set of teeth,” Gil said, starting to grin now.

“Why do you wear an eyepatch?” Stanford’s fingers were twitching.

“Why don’t you?” Gil countered.

Stanford jerked forward, and then leaned down to peer at Gil just as the sunrise filtered through the shop windows, casting long shadows beside them.

“I _know_ who you are,” Stanford said lowly, grinding his teeth together, drawing a deep, placating breath.

“I know you do,” Gil said, evenly. “I have a nametag.”

Stanford flicked his eyes down, reading the tag pinned to Gil’s t-shirt. The name was so incomprehensibly scribbled that it might’ve just as well been a code.

Or “Bill”.

Somewhere in another room he could hear the coffee machine gurgling to life as Stanley started preparing for breakfast. 

“I’ll be watching you,” he said curtly, drawing back.

“He said, to a minor,” Gil said, still grinning, and flipped over the OPEN sign.

Stanford turned, and stalked out of the room, right past the sleep-rumbled Stanley holding a cup of coffee.

He needed some salt.

*

As the day progressed, it became vividly, painfully clear that Bill – Gil – was baiting Stanford.

He’d taken upon himself to fix the snacks machine that he’d purposefully broken the previous night, just to stay within earshot of Gil and to keep an eye on him. He’d expected the boy to lay low – if he was Bill, he might’ve indeed taken the chance to convince Stanford that he was looking in the wrong direction.

Of course, Stanford should’ve remembered that the first and foremost of Bill’s not-so-charming quirks was his emotional immaturity.

“Hey, I didn’t make you buy it. Sorry, kid! There’s no refunds in the Mystery Shack.”

The ten-year-old huffed, tapping his sneakers on the floor. “You said this flashlight can show ghosts. I haven’t seen _any_ ghosts and I’ve been using it all week, you jerk!”

Gil grinned, leaning over the counter, hand on his chin. “How do you know you aren’t seeing ghosts _right now_ , short stuff? Riddle me that, why don’tcha?”

The boy faltered, staring at Gil. “You mean –“

Gil’s grin widened uncomfortably.

The boy hesitated, and then scoffed. “You’re not a _ghost_.”

“Says who?”

“Says I!”

“Well, look who knows everything about everything! Y’know, I’m not a jerk either,” Gil said, and then whispered, leaning closer. “By the way, _gam-gam says hi_.”

The boy stumbled back with a startled cry, and then ran out of the shop, without his flashlight. Gil leaned back, and picked it up, laughing.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Stanford remarked lowly. “You lied to him. And ghosts can be a very bothersome phenomena.”

Gil looked at him for a moment, without blinking, and Stanford felt an uncomfortable chill run along the back of his neck.

Then Gil put the flashlight under his face, turning it on, smirking horribly.

“Boo,” he said.

Stanford wrote it down, with sharp, angry letters.

*

Gil had trouble walking. To be exact, he had trouble walking straight – Stanford observed as he stumbled over thresholds, bumped into customers and laughed it off, and in one occasion simply stood still in one moment and then fell over in the next. The boy seemed to an uncoordinated mess of uncooperative limbs that all wanted to go in separate directions, clearly outside the normal rules of human movement. He opened doors with his _elbows_.

Every time he smacked his hand against something he’d taken to laughing and looking at Stanford, whispering “ _it hurts so good_ ”.

Sometimes Stanford still had dreams where his body piloted wildly onward with no regard to him, where he touched things and felt the sting of pain or the caress of something soft and it felt like it was happening to someone else, while it was happening to him. Bill had liked pain – he’d tried to explain to Stanford, a long time ago, in his own way, but he’d never understood it further than that it was apparently “fun”.

He crouched behind his tool kit next to a severed wire he could’ve fixed in thirty seconds, but had, in fact, spent a half a day working on, and wondered whether Bill had created himself a body out of nothing or whether he’d simply taken over a convenient one – the latter seemed certainly his style. It was why he expected that the blessed salt mixed with crumbled bone and unicorn hair he’d sprinkled all over the place would make it a tad difficult for Gil as well.

“It’s like a dandruff commercial in here,” Stanley remarked, wandering in, clearly out of old habit. He fixed an accusing look at Stanford. “You know anything about this, Sixer?”

“Anything about what?” Stanford said casually, watching Gil like a hawk as he came in with a fresh box of t-shirts – and stepped over the first line of salt like it was nothing.

Well. It had been a long shot, anyway. Having a human body could negate a lot of things. And other people might have also messed it up.

“Huh,” Stanley said, put his finger into a pile whitish powder on the counter and licked it. “Never what you hope it would be,” he said, regretfully.

“What?” Stanford asked distractedly.

“Never mind. Listen, Ford –“

He was interrupted by a yelp and a thump as Gil slipped on a particularly generous amount of salt.

“Hey!” Stanley exclaimed, startled. “You okay, kid? Remember, only losers sue.”

“Ha!” Stanford couldn’t help himself. “Having a little trouble navigating, _Gil_?”

“Sixer, not now –“

“Help!” Gil said, muffled, flailing underneath a pile of _Got Mystery?_ shirts. “These are XL!”

“Tell me, Gil, did it feel like a particularly powerful energy was making you weak- “ Stanford started – but Stanley, who’d moved to help Gil, took that moment to also slip on the salty floor, going down with a magnificent flip and a loud thump.

The ensuing storm of cursing suggested to Stanford that it might be better for him to slip away for a moment, while Melody and Soos rushed to help.

*

“- is he all right? He seems so agitated, I’m worried.”

“It happens every once in a while,” Stanley grunted, handing Melody a cup of coffee. “This time of the year. He just needs to, y’know. Work through it.”

Stanford paused, just outside the kitchen, in his quest of inspecting the contents of Gil’s bag (a Santa hat, a cell phone and a piece of dried broccoli) that he’d snatched while Gil was busy mopping up the salt, and listened.

“You know, Gil’s a bit funny, but he does respect authority figures. Sort of. In a teenage fashion.”

Stanley let out a guffaw. “Ha! Good luck getting that through Captain Ahab over here!”

Stanford made a disapproving face in silence, as the other two in the kitchen burst into laughter.

They really shouldn’t have been talking about Soos this way. The poor young man had enough on his plate as it was, running the Shack. Stanford considered, briefly, about going in and telling them so, but then decided against it. He wasn’t sure how well Melody would take him stealing personal belongings from her supposed employee, even though said employee was most likely an evil demon.

He turned, and stalked back to the shop, just in time to miss what Stanley said next.

“I think, in some real mixed up way, that old coot actually misses him.”

*

“So,” Stanley said, sitting down onto the porch couch next to Stanford.

Gil was eating his lunch out on the yard. Whenever Bill had been in a human body, he’d taken great delight in eating – or really, cramming food into whatever hole he could find in a face, with little to no regard to his host. Stanford had once picked pieces of spaghetti out of his ears for weeks, and on top of that, _forgiven_ Bill.

Bill had been so excited about the spaghetti. Sometimes Stanford hated remembering these innocent little factoids.  

“I assume you want an apology,” Stanford said, watching as Gil attempted to empty an entire bag of gummi bears into his mouth, his head tilted back like an ambitious pelican.

Stanley sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Look, Ford – I know it’s hard for you –“

“Mmm!” Gil called out loudly. “I sure wish these were actual bears!”

“What are you talking about? I can do apologies these days,” Stanford paused, and then considered, remembering, with a guilty pang, all the progress they’d made in the last few years. “Although – Ley, there’s something you should know about that boy over there –“

“You think he’s Bill Cipher,” Stanley said flatly. He reached over to his side, and pulled out a can of beer. Stanford stared at him.

“How did you – well, yes. Listen, Ley – I’m basing this on _real_ observation. I’m basing this on my previous notes – this isn’t just a hunch. We all knew this day could come.” 

“Uhhuh.”

“I _know_ how a person pretending to be a person acts, and he fits the bill!” He paused, and then added, evenly. ”I made a pun there but I would like you to not focus on that part.”  

 “That guy in Norway also fit the description,” Stanley asked lowly. “Remember, last year? You stalked him for two weeks –“

“Observed!”

“Tomato, criminal offense, whatever – what about that lady in Italy? Huh?”

“A false alarm,” Stanford said, gritting his teeth. “These things happen, Stanley. Yellow contact lenses – what _do_ they come up next. Just because you’re wrong once doesn’t mean you should just give up altogether.”

“Give up on _what_? Will’ya take off those triangle goggles? Bill is _dead_ , Sixer!”

Stanford paused, staring across the field at Gil, his jaw aching from how hard it was set. The teenager was having a hot dog with grapes. He tried to compose himself.

“A creature like Bill isn’t –“

“I know you never got to do it,” Stanley interrupted. “I did it. _Me_. I punched that smug little monster. But Ford –“ and he heard rustling, as his brother turned to him, and he felt his brother’s hand squeeze his shoulder briefly.

“You can’t punch a teenager, Ford,” Stanley said lowly, almost gently. “That’s an assault.”

“A teenager who shows up out of the blue!” Stanford snapped. “A teenager with erratic, unpredictable behaviour, odd impulses and a cruel sense of humour! A teenager whose name _rhymes with Bill!_ ”

“Sounds like every single teenager I’ve ever known,” Stanley said. “Minus that last part, and even then, only occasionally.”

Stanford stood up. Gil was staring at them across the yard now, but Stanford didn’t care – let him know they were onto him! Or at least, he was – Stanley, as per usual, seemed to be more than willing to ignore the evidence staring at him in the face. It didn’t matter. It only meant one thing.

As per usual, Stanford was going to have to deal with this himself.

*

As the day set, the tourists dwindled down and eventually the last wandering curious soul packed up, got into their car and drove off. Stanford watched Gil through the window as the sun bathed everything in golden glow, very calm now that he had his plans. The teenager was talking to Soos, mostly in gestures.

Occasionally he pointed inside.

When he finally took off, Stanford packed the last of his tools, shouldered his bag and followed him. He got outside just in time to see Gil disappear into the woods.

It felt odd, walking alone down the familiar path. Of course Stanford had been around these parts more times that he could recall, but it had been a while since he’d gone alone. He thought about Stanley, back in the house, probably watching TV with Soos and Melody in a cosy bubble of domesticity. Sometimes Stanford laid awake at night, terror gripping his heart in a tight squeeze because of the possibility that he could’ve been dreaming all the while – that all the good things he’d had since coming back were a lie.

He supposed it would’ve helped if he’d seen Bill go, if he’d been there to hear his last words. Stanley didn’t remember them, or claimed that he didn’t: some lame attempt on his brother’s side to make him let go.

The forest rustled and whispered around him, his feet crunching dry leaves and twigs with every step. The last of the sun went away, leaving cold blue light: he took three more steps and stood before Bill Cipher.

It wasn’t _Bill_ , exactly. He’d seen it only once before, right after. He’d tried looking for it many times, sometimes casually, sometimes with maps and calculations and feverish obsession, but the statue had evaded him, had tricked compasses and landmarks as if it was shifting from place to place on purpose.

The hat had broken off, lying on the grass, artlessly.

The forest rapidly getting darker, Stanford stepped forward, and hesitated for only a moment before he placed his six-fingered hand on the cool stone. Absolutely nothing happened – no flash of light, no earthquakes, no bleeding skies. It was no more than a grave stone.

“Damnit it all,” Stanford muttered under his breath, faltering, for the first time.

“Well, well, _well_. Look who’s up _way_ past their eight thirty bed time. ”

Stanford spun around, coming face to face with Gil, who was standing there, arms crossed over his chest.

“I really don’t want to make a joke about sundowning but I just might,” Gil said, his mouth curled unpleasantly.

“Is this what you wanted me to see?” Stanford asked, his throat dry. “This – this husk? To gloat?”

Gil looked taken aback. “What –“

“What do you want this time, hm?” Stanford snapped. “Another _game_ that you’re playing with me, Bill?”

“I don’t know what you’re –“

“Liar!”

They stared at each other for a moment in the creeping darkness, Stanford nearly panting, and Gil wide-eyed, cornered.

Then a bright light suddenly flashed, burning in Stanford’s eyes, rendering him momentarily blind as something fell onto the ground before him, Gil’s footsteps echoing in the empty forest. Stanford fumbled in his coat, pulling out his gun – but when he could finally see, Gil was gone. He looked down to see the flashlight Gil had taken from the ten-year-old earlier in the day.

He let out a shaky exhale, and leaned down, picking it up, weighing it in his hand, spots dancing in his vision: he looked down at the statue. This time – this time he could make sure Bill wasn’t coming back.

Stanford glanced back at the direction of the Shack, and then got to work.

*

The evening turned into a night, and the night flew past him as the hours melded into one another in a strange kind of flow. He moved like a man possessed, a penlight strapped onto his shoulder, rustling through the bushes and ignoring the strange glowing eyes that observed him from the darkness. He felt feverish, giddy, raw, with the very thought that he, and no one else, would put an end to this, a real end, and then he wouldn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder anymore.

Crunching on a power bar, Stanford wondered whether Stanley was concerned. Before coming back, he’d never really had to worry about another person: in fact, after the incident of the cave network and the vampires, Stanley had made him promise not to run off on his own, and he’d done so, startled and grateful.

But this was different. For one, he couldn’t bear to leave the statue – he couldn’t bear the idea that he might lose track of it again, so soon after finally locating it. He kept it constantly in the field of his vision as he worked.

A new day began in earnest, as the run rose. Stanford settled to wait.

He didn’t have to wait for long. Down the path it came, whistling a tune vaguely familiar to Stanford – his mind supplied something about rainbows. The sun turned the leaves on the path gleaming golden.  

Stanford pulled the lever, and the cage fell, trapping Gil perfectly into the middle of the circle.

“What the –“ Gil yelped, stumbling back and landing on his ass. He was wearing another t-shirt today – this one printed to look like a tuxedo.

“Hah!” said Stanford, rising from the bushes at the edge of the circle, pulling out a book. “ _Lorem, ipsum, dolor sit amet_ –“

The circle started to glow, first orange and then bright blue. The air turned thick, a sensation of nails gently scraping against Stanford’s face, and Gil yelled something – Stanford raised his voice to drown his, a buzz-like humming filling his ears as he continued the incantation, his hands shaking as he held the book, mostly out of nerves. He’d memorized the words a long time ago.

The trees around them trembled while the air stood still – and Bill’s statue, also sitting inside the circle, gently, suddenly, disintegrated into dust, with a sound like a sigh.

Stanford stopped talking, shock squeezing around his throat. The lights fell.

Gil continued yelling.

“- I quit! Is that what you want?! Fine! I don’t care! Just leave me alone! I don’t _care_!”

Stanford turned his head, slowly, and with some difficulty, to Gil, who was clutching the bars of the cage, still very much there, his teeth bared.

“I –“ Stanford started.

“You know what?!” Gil demanded, his voice rising into a new level of high, cracking a little. “I know I’m a freak! Yeah! Mind blown! Don’t need ya to tell me!”

“I –“

“I’m super good at my job! Soos said so! But _you_ – you won’t leave me alone and you act like I’m such a weirdo and I don’t belong there so y’know – y- y’know, fine, _whatever_ , I’ll go, I don’t _care_ –“

“It didn’t work,” Stanford mumbled, under his breath. He looked at the spot where Bill’s statue had been, mere moments ago. All of a sudden, he wasn’t so sure. He looked at Gil again.

“Why were you –“ he started, and then cleared his throat. “You were _taunting_ me.”

“ _I’m a teenager_!” Gil yelled, clearly frustrated, flailing his long arms about. “Ya started it! I have poor impulse control! I bought six snakes last week and mailed them to my second grade math teacher! I do stuff without thinking!” He turned, abruptly, and stalked to the other end of the cage, turning his back on Stanford and sitting on the ground, shoulders hunched.

Stanford shut his book, carefully, and stepped into the ring. Gil didn’t turn around.

“I was just messing with ya,” Gil said, lowly. “It was funny at first. You got all – blustering and sneaked around. But I’m done – I don’t know why ya hate me but I’m gone, whatever, I don’t care –“

“You’ve – said that,” Stanford said carefully. “Many times now. I feel like you _do_ care.”

“What is _wrong_ with ya?” Gil said heatedly, turning around. “What, are you off your meds? Is this a millennial thing? What?”

“I think,” Stanford said, selecting his words carefully. He felt fragile on the inside, like he was made of glass. He sat down next to the cage. “I think I never grieved someone – or something – properly. As – preposterous as that is. They never deserved to be – grieved.”

Gil stopped, staring at him.

“But I guess I deserved it,” Stanford said, clearing his throat. “My grand-niece says I get – tunnel vision.”

Gil stared at him for a moment longer.

“Are ya going to murder me?” he asked, eventually, softly.

“No!” Stanford exclaimed, aghast. “I was just going to banish you into a nightmare dimension.”

“Oh,” Gil said, and then, solemnly. “Cool.”

Stanford huffed out a laugh, just a small one. “I thought you were a demon. I’ve dealt with demons before. You have to admit, your behaviour was – suspicious.”

“You were literally trying to follow me home.”

“Well you –“ Stanford paused. “I watched you spend ten minutes sitting still and laughing to yourself.”

“Oh, that’s because I arranged all the hats so they spelled out MY SMACK,” Gil said promptly

Stanford stared at him.

“It was internet funny,” Gil said defensively.

“What about when you dropped those, those chips, Doritos, the ones shaped like triangles, and you looked at them and just said ‘same’?”

“Wow. You’re so _old_.”

Stanford laughed shakily, rubbing his face. “Much too old to be behaving this way. I agree.”

“Mr. Pines?”

Stanford hesitated, looking at Gil who was sitting on the bottom of the cage, staring at him. He looked suddenly so young – the same age as Dipper and Mabel, probably. It had been difficult to notice when you thought you were dealing with being as old as time.

“Yes, Gil?” he asked, carefully.

“Are you going to let me out of this thing?”

“Oh!” Stanford sprung up to his feet. “Of course, I’m sorry – I guess I have a lot to apologize for –“ he grabbed the rope, starting to lever the cage up.”

“I guess it’s fine,” Gil said, getting up on his feet too. “You thought I was an evil demon, I thought you were like a whole Devil Wears Prada deal –“

“Oh, the Devil is so much more eloquent than I am,” Stanford said easily. “But thank you for thinking so.”

Gil paused, staring at Stanford again, and then let out a little laugh. “You’re so _weird_.”

“Apparently, so are you,” Stanford said dryly. “Why the eyepatch, Gil?”

“Uh –“ Gil’s hand flew to the patch, lifting it up – revealing another perfectly normal eye behind it. “I just.” He looked a little defensive. “It looks cool, right?”

“Of course it does,” Stanford said solemnly. “My brother spent years wearing one and he’s one of those coolest people I know.” He exhaled, watching Gil step out of the cage, and then let the whole thing fall down again. “I think we started off on the wrong foot here, Gil – in fact, I think we should’ve started with a hand.”

“What –“

Stanford held out his hand for Gil to shake, solemnly. The teenager stared at him, not even remotely grasping the magnitude, which suited Stanford just fine. Then he took it.

Another teenager chose this moment to stumble out of the bushes, glow sticks strapped to his head, shirt missing, blinking dazedly.

“Uh, hey – guys,” he said, clearing his throat. “You wouldn’t like, happen to know if the job at, um, Murder Shack is still open? I got caught up in this cool forest rave.” He looked dreamy. “Gnomes, man. They know how to party.”

“The position has been filled,” Stanford said firmly, reaching out and squeezing Gil’s shoulder. “Say, Gil - have you – ever noticed anything funny going around in this town?”

“Well, I steal the newspaper every day from this guy who might be a werewolf,” Gil said. “It’s funny how much he freaks out when he can’t bring it inside.”

“Definitely his sense of humour,” Stanford muttered under his breath, and then continued, starting to steer them down the path towards the Shack. “I was wondering – I know you have your hands full at work, but I was thinking of doing a little scouting around town, and while my brother is always happy to accompany me – I could use an extra pair of arms carrying the plasma gun. Teenagers are allowed to carry guns, right?”

“Absolutely,” Gil said with a straight face.

“Excellent!” Stanford said. The circle blurred under his feet. A short distance away sat a lump of stone that used to be Bill’s hat. He leaned down and picked it up carefully.

The image still played, over and over again, somewhere in the back of his head like one of those gifs Mabel kept sending to him – Bill’s frozen statue crumbling into dust. He supposed it was better than nothing.

“Goodbye,” he said, without meaning to.

“Mr. Pines?”

“I’m coming,” Stanford said distractedly, tucking the hat into his pocket.

Gil was already walking ahead, bathed in the sun. Stanford could barely see him, squinting his eyes in the light.

The wheel stayed put, the dull ache in his chest real – but somehow, it wasn’t so bad after all.

*

“I said don’t get arrested for harassment. I didn’t tell ya to adopt the kid,” Stanley panted, hauling his backpack over another rock with a sound like an old-timey steam train. “Ya numpty.”

“Oh, quit complaining,” Stanford said, cupping his hands so Stanley could use them as a stand. “He laughs at all of your jokes – your awful, awful jokes. Even the dirty ones.” He paused. “Especially the dirty ones.”

“Hey, “her aim is getting better” is a classic –“

“Mr. Pines! Yoo-hoo! Over here!”

They both looked up, spying Gil at the top of the hill. He was waving his arms and hopping up and down like a windmill on ecstasy.

“Come on!” Gil hollered. “At this point I’m going to be as old as you before ya get up here!”

A strange, enormous being arose behind him, in the full view of Stanley and Stanford down below. It looked like a moose covered in moss, except that it had three heads. It honked threateningly.

Stanley uttered a bad word.

“Hahaa!” Gil called out. “Fisticuffs!”

“No, Gil! That’s not like the manotaurs, it won’t give up just because you pretend you have rabies!” Stanford yelled.

“Ah, screw it,” Stanley said, grabbed the rock and started hauling himself up full speed. Stanford pulled out a grappling hook.

The forest on the mountainside, north of the town of Gravity Falls, was soon filled with shouts, sounds of laser beams and trees crashing down.

Everything moved on.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
